


Get a Haircut (And Get a Real Job)

by SerotoninShift



Series: The Most Exciting Thing I'd Ever Known [1]
Category: Motorcity (Cartoon)
Genre: About 85 percent feelings and 15 percent porn, First Time, Frottage, M/M, Masturbation, Porn with Feelings, Sexual Fantasy, Surgery Mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-20 01:20:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17012838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SerotoninShift/pseuds/SerotoninShift
Summary: Chuck is growing his hair out. Mike starts to notice. Post-“A Better Tomorrow.”





	Get a Haircut (And Get a Real Job)

**Author's Note:**

> My parents taught me what life was about  
> So I grew up the type they warned me about  
> They said my friends were just an unruly mob  
> And I should get a haircut and get a real job.  
> ~George Thorogood

The first time it happens, they’re deep into a late night round of Extreme Wheels, concentrating mostly on trash-talking each other, when Chuck abruptly pauses the game.

“Hang on a sec,” he says, seeming slightly annoyed, and Mike quickly rewinds the past few moments in his head. He knows he can say thoughtless stuff sometimes; Chuck’s given him an earful about it more than once. Did he screw up again? But Chuck just reaches into his pocket and pulls out a hair clip. He nonchalantly brushes his bangs back from his face and clips them on top of his head.

“There,” he says, picks up his controller, and unpauses the game.

Mike immediately starts losing. He’s distracted, because… Chuck’s whole face! Wow! He looks…

 _…Naked,_ Mike’s brain supplies unhelpfully. He shakes the thought away, frowning. Chuck’s concentrating on the game, brow furrowed, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth a bit.

When did he start putting his hair up enough that he had to get a hair clip? Where did he even _get_ the hair clip? It’s Deluxe colors, blue and white. Maybe Julie got it for him? There hasn’t been much trade with the upper levels lately. Since they destroyed the Genesis pod, there’s been a long détente. Kane retreated to lick his wounds, and Motorcity regrouped and rebuilt. Mike tried some diplomacy (mostly by leaving the talking to Julie, who’s way better at that kind of thing) and solidified the shaky alliance between the disparate gangs into a more cohesive truce. Together, they strengthened their defenses; they have extra layers of security at all the gates now, and regular perimeter patrols. Even the Duke is contributing.

And to be honest, Kane’s attacks have seemed half-hearted since then, just shock bots every once in a while to keep them on their toes. Julie told Mike that Kane threw so many resources into the Genesis pod that he’s had to back off, start R & D from scratch. She says he’s not going to throw anything that big their way again anytime soon. She would know. And if there’s some things she doesn’t want to tell him, he’s not going to push. There’s clearly more to her double life than an internship, and he has his suspicions, but that’s her secret to keep.

With less imminent threat of utter destruction, Chuck has had a chance to be the slightly (slightly) more chill guy he is when he’s not scared out of his mind. He’s been using the downtime to make improvements to the base; tweaking the code of the automated tools in the machine shop for Texas, working on hologram tech with Julie, adding enhancements to the cars with Dutch. And he’s been able to get a bunch of LARPing in, which makes him happy. He seems a little less stressed out lately. Which isn’t saying much, but Mike’s pretty good at reading the timbre of his friend’s nervousness. In Mutt, there’s been less high-pitched shrieking and more muttering-under-his-breath-about-Mike-getting-them-killed, which means Chuck is relatively comfortable. But Mike’s never seen him put his hair up before. Usually he hides behind his bangs.

He shouldn’t, Mike reflects, still distracted. Chuck’s face is great. His oversized nose, his freckles, his blue eyes, his expressiveness; all the things that make him interesting. Mike’s lucky to have such an awesome friend.

Chuck looks up, raises an eyebrow at him. “You’re losing! What are you grinning at, you goon?”

“Nothing!” Mike shakes his head, refocuses, manages to lose by a less embarrassing margin.

When he climbs into bed that night he’s happy, but also oddly unsettled, like something’s been thrown off kilter. His room shares a wall with Chuck’s; it’s pretty thick, they can only hear each other if they deliberately knock, but tonight Mike is more keenly aware than usual of Chuck’s presence on the other side. He considers tapping out a Morse code message like they used to do sometimes, just “Good night” or something, but decides against it. He thinks about Chuck taking the hair clip out, shaking his bangs back into place. It made Mike sort of sad when he did that; Mike liked seeing his face. He drifts off with the odd thought that something’s different; he falls asleep before he can pinpoint it, and doesn’t think of it again for a few days.

***

The second time it happens, they’re going out to help the Mama’s Boys mop up some bots in their territory. A couple of Junior’s guys got food poisoning from soy hotdogs, so he’s short-handed. Mike is looking forward to a little action; he’s been getting antsy. He checks Mutt’s systems as Chuck pulls himself into the passenger seat. Mike never could convince him to start driving Blonde Thunder, but a big part of him is glad; Chuck’s pretty indispensable as a passenger. Mike relies on Chuck’s hair-trigger sense of danger to keep them out of trouble. He knows he can be too reckless, too quick to leap before he looks, and Chuck has no problem telling him when he’s being stupid. Chuck keeps him balanced.

Chuck buckles up and Mike glances over at him, then does a double take. He can see Chuck’s face again. Chuck has his hair pulled back into a little ponytail, held up with a rubber band.

“Your hair!” Mike exclaims without thinking.

Chuck starts and sort of shrinks into himself.

“Does it look dumb?” he asks.

“No, dude, it looks c… cool.” Mike almost said _cute._ That would be stupid on a few levels.

Chuck straightens, smiles shyly. “Really? I just thought I could be more efficient if I didn’t have it in my eyes. It feels kind of weird though. Does it look weird? I dunno about it. I just thought I’d try it. Um, bro, we better go?”

“Right you are, buddy.” Mike pulls his eyes away from Chuck’s face, shifts into gear, and peels out.

Once they get going a steady 200 mph, Chuck pulls up a screen and starts trying to zero in on the location of the bots. He’s been working on a new tracking system, and has been wanting a chance to try it out in the field. Mike studies his friend’s face covertly while he works. There’s definitely something different about Chuck lately, something bigger than a hairstyle. Mike can’t quite put his finger on it. Chuck looks kind of like he did the other night when they were playing the racing game, same furrowed brow and tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth. Then he makes an elated “Ah HA” noise, turns to Mike, and catches him staring. “MIKEY!” he shrieks. “EYES ON THE ROAD!” Mike snaps his attention back to the highway, just in time to swerve around an abandoned piece of old tire.

“DUDE, don’t give me a HEART ATTACK, just drive straight, okay, I’m trying to _work_ here!” Chuck yells, annoyed, but he’s not doing the thing where he grips the grab handle and screams, so Mike didn’t do too bad. Mike grins, concentrating on the road again but listening to the furious tapping of Chuck’s fingers on his screens. He sneaks one more quick look. With his hair up, Chuck looks really different; more serious, more confident, more… mature.

Then it hits Mike, what’s changed. It’s that Chuck’s _grown up._ He’s not the little kid who used to crawl into Mike’s bunk in Deluxe after a nightmare, face wet, nose running. He’s not the shy teenager who could barely talk to anyone without stammering. He’s the guy who took down a huge bot with a homemade lance, the guy who can outcode anyone in Motorcity while hanging upside down from one leg, the guy who faces his worst fears near-constantly and keeps going, Mike’s _literal_ partner in crime.

Mike’s grown up too, he suddenly realizes. It happened so gradually he hadn’t noticed. What happened to the kids they once were, the kids they got to be so briefly before Kane turned them into soldiers and rebels? Is it normal to have spent so much of your life fighting when you’re only eighteen? He has a feeling it’s not. The thought makes a deep grief well up in him, not just for himself, but for his friends, who he loves so much… he squashes the feeling. Last time he got overprotective it didn’t work out so well. His Burners can handle themselves.

He checks on them anyway. After that time the Duke put a bounty on them, without Mike even asking, Chuck installed a program on the dashboard so he can see all the Burners’ cars relative to Mutt. Sometimes Mike thinks Chuck can hack into his brain. He’s reassured to see their icons in formation. He’s got a great team. Everything’s great, they’re going to kick some robot butt! It’s _fine_. He’s fine.

“I’ve got a lock on the bots,” Chuck says. “The tracking program is working perfectly!”

“I knew you were a genius, buddy,” Mike says, grinning, and Chuck makes that weird hiccup-giggle noise that means he doesn’t know how to take a compliment. Mike is familiar with a lot of Chuck’s noises, and this one makes Mike’s smile fierce. He’s ready to go back into battle, his best friend by his side.

***

The third time it happens is totally Julie’s fault. She’s getting ready to meet Claire over at the Amazons’, and is putting on makeup in the living room (Mike can admit the bathroom is kind of a disaster area, between him, Chuck, and Dutch sharing it). She always gets a little funny about going to the Amazons’, like she has to show off or something. Mike doesn’t get it; Julie is awesome, she doesn’t need to do anything out of the ordinary to impress. But he’s curious on his way through to the kitchen with Chuck, and slows for a second to watch her applying mascara, holding up a little hand mirror. They don’t get to see her _primping_ that often, it’s kind of adorable. Julie notices Mike lingering and smirks at him.

“You boys want a makeover?” she says, pointing her mascara wand at them.

Mike grins. “I’m already perfect,” he says, exaggeratedly popping his collar. Chuck snorts behind him.

“And I’m beyond help,” Chuck says cheerfully. “What could you even do for me, hahaha!” Mike glares at him (he shouldn’t be so down on himself, geez), but Chuck doesn’t notice because Julie is narrowing her eyes at him appraisingly. Chuck wilts a little.

“What?” he squeaks.

“Come here,” Julie says, patting the sofa next to her.

“Uh,” Chuck says uncertainly.

“Come on, I’m not going to do anything crazy,” Julie says, rolling her eyes. “But when was the last time you even washed your face?”

“Um.”

“Oh my god, get over here.” Julie digs in her overnight bag, coming up with a little round packet. Chuck hesitantly lowers himself down beside her. Mike can’t help smiling a little; even seated, he towers over her. Julie pulls a single thin sheet out of the packet and holds it up for Chuck’s inspection.

“This is a KaneCo cleansing pad, really it’s for makeup removal, but I bet it’ll work for your greasy face, too,” she says, and proceeds to scrub vigorously at the offending visage.

“Ow! Julie! It stings!” Chuck protests, but she just grabs his chin and continues.

“Gotta suffer for beauty,” she says, swiping at his forehead. “And we’ve _got_ to do something with this hair. It’s getting so _long._ Turn and face Mike.”

Chuck complies, giving Mike a helpless look. Mike grins at him and shrugs. There’s nothing _he_ can do against the force of Julie’s will. If she wants to do something to Chuck’s hair, then Chuck’s hair is gonna get something done to it. And Mike is pretty amused, he wants to see how this turns out.

It’s kind of boring, though. Julie gets out a heavy-duty-looking brush and pulls it through Chuck’s hair roughly a bunch of times, then starts dividing it into sections. Mike is getting twitchy watching this for some reason.

“I’m gonna go get something to eat,” he says. Chuck, who seems pacified by Julie’s fingers in his hair, waves at him and says, “Wish me luck, bro.”

“Good luck,” he offers, and retreats to the kitchen.

He digs around in the refrigerator and finds some carob-chili muffins that looks mostly normal. He takes the plate to the counter and absently eats one. He’s got that off-kilter feeling again. It’s strange. There’s nothing _wrong._ Maybe he’s just hungry. He starts on another muffin.

“Haha, check this out,” Chuck says, coming into the kitchen. With a weird rush of relief, Mike looks up from stuffing his face to see what Julie did.

She’s braided the sides and then pulled the two braids back into a ponytail with the rest of Chuck’s hair, which is longer than Mike remembers from last time he had it up. “Mmmph!” Mike says around a mouthful of food, which means _That actually looks pretty good!_ He realizes it might not translate and gives a thumbs up to clarify.

“I know, it _is_ pretty neat, right? Maybe I can get Julie to show me how to do it sometime… it would be cool for LARPing… it looks kind of old-timey. Can I have a muffin?”

Mike pushes the plate over and Chuck digs in.

It’s not objectively the coolest hairstyle, but Mike can see where Julie was going with it. It keeps the hair out of Chuck’s face, and Mike can imagine how it would look with his LARPing cloak and circlet. It could be kind of regal, in the right context. It looks a little dorky for just sitting around eating muffins, though.

Mike imagines tugging the braids out, combing them loose between his fingers.

Wait. Is that… a normal thing to imagine? That’s a little more touchy-feely than they usually are. Sort of… intimate.

O… kay. Mike files it away. No reason to make things weird. He’s going to eat muffins with his best bro and not think about how he wants to _reclaim_ him from Julie by running his fingers through his hair. That’s totally unnecessary. They’re all friends, no one has a particular claim on anyone else. Still. Chuck was his friend _first,_ the traitorous thought rises up. _He_ should be the one who…

The one who _what,_ he asks himself, annoyed. The one who braids his hair? You don’t even know how to braid!

“Earth to Mike! Whatcha thinking about, dude?” Chuck asks, waving a hand in his face. Mike starts.

“UH. Nothing really. These muffins are weird!”

“Everything Jacob makes is weird. Are you okay?”

“Yeah! Yeah, I’m fine.” He’s _fine._ Mike changes the subject to the last kung fu movie Texas made them watch, and determinedly doesn’t think about Chuck’s hair anymore.

***

The fourth time it happens, Mike can’t sleep, and wanders into the living room late at night. Chuck is curled up in the armchair, poking at his screen. It’s dark except for the light on Chuck’s face. He looks up when Mike enters.

“You can’t sleep either, bro?” Chuck asks softly.

Mike flops down onto the couch. “Naaaaaaah,” he says. “It’s too hot in my room, I thought I’d come down here where it’s cooler.”

“Totally,” Chuck agrees. “Make yourself at home, I’m just finishing up some stuff. Is the light gonna bother you?”

“Dude, you were here first,” Mike laughs, stretching out. “It’s not gonna bother me. Do you mind company?”

“Of course not!” Chuck waves a hand absently. Mike scrunches up a cushion under his head, and Chuck goes back to tapping in code. They settle into companionable silence. 

Mike finds himself watching Chuck. His screen opacity is pretty low, Mike can see his face through the green rectangle. He’s got his hair pulled back into a ponytail again, except a little piece that’s fallen into his eyes. As Mike watches, he absently sticks out his lower lip and blows the stray hairs out of his face.

Mike looks away hurriedly. Whoa. Big feelings. He just… loves this guy. Well, duh. He’s loved Chuck since they were kids. But there’s definitely something different about it lately. Something distracting. Something about Chuck’s face.

Mike rolls his eyes at himself. Really, it’s pretty obvious. He just has to admit it.

He wants to kiss Chuck’s face.

Yep. He wants to smooch him. Tongue wrestle. Lip lock. Tonsil box. Whatever. Like the use of “foul language,” that was _not_ encouraged in the cadets, and Mike reflexively feels a little weird thinking about it, but he shrugs the feeling off. This isn’t the cadets. This is Motorcity. He can live fast and live free, and he can think about kissing his best friend if he wants to. Up yours, Kane.

Just to prove that he isn’t in thrall to Kane any more, Mike deliberately thinks about kissing Chuck. He doesn’t know much about it, but he would definitely start by running his fingers through Chuck’s hair like he thought about doing when Julie braided it. This is easy to imagine; he knows what Chuck’s hair feels like, he’s ruffled it a bunch of times. The rest of it is new territory, though. He’d have to reach up, cup his hand around the back of Chuck’s head to get him to lean down. Would Chuck be hesitant? Maybe, he’s still kind of shy. He might close his eyes, leaning down to carefully brush his lips over Mike’s, and Mike would pull him closer, maybe run his tongue over Chuck’s lower lip, bite it gently. Chuck might make one of his little noises, one that Mike’s never heard before…

And that’s… wow.

Mike suddenly feels a rush of warmth to parts of himself he doesn’t usually spend a lot of time on. It catches him off guard. His face gets hot. He can’t be… _having reactions_ like that that with Chuck _right there!_ He stands up abruptly. Chuck looks up from his screen, startled.

“Well!” Mike says, too loudly. “I’m… cooled off? I’m gonna… go back upstairs.”

“I’m almost done, if I’m bothering you?”

“No!” Mike says, his traitor voice sounding more high-pitched than usual. “You’re not bothering me, dude, I’m just… I’m kinda restless, I guess? I’m gonna go take a walk or something.”

“Okay,” Chuck says dubiously. “Hope you, uh, feel better? Get some rest, bro.”

“Sure thing!” Mike says, and hastily retreats. He can feel Chuck’s eyes on him on his way out of the living room. He marches quickly up the stairs and down the hall. Once the door to his room is shut behind him, he leans back against it, lets out a sigh of relief, and adjusts himself in his briefs.

He lets his hand linger. Hmm. He hasn’t done that in awhile. It might get these feelings out of his system a little, at least until he can deal with them in a more productive way. He idly palms himself through his sweatpants, and finds his mind drifting back to Chuck’s lips, and especially the little noises he might make if Mike kissed him. Wow. He feels himself getting harder, and then feels a pang of guilt. Is it really fair to think about his best friend like this? Mike sighs, shifts restlessly, and accidentally pushes himself into his own palm. A jolt goes through him.

On the other hand. He’s just taking the idea out for a test drive, right? And it’s not like he does… _this_ very often. The cadets put a high premium on self-control; if he jerked off, afterwards he always felt like he’d failed some kind of test. The corps didn’t do a lot of conditioning with sex stuff like they did with the swearing, but they also had more subtle ways of shaping behavior. Since coming to Motorcity he’s been a little freer about touching himself; breaking the rules is his _modus operandi_ these days, and a really awkward conversation with Jacob (which started out about birth control and ended up being about _lots_ of uncomfortable topics) put his mind at ease that it’s not _wrong._ But he rarely involves anyone else by thinking about them. That seems intense.

Still. He has to admit the thought of kissing Chuck is really doing it for him. He wants to chase the feeling, see where it leads. So he does what he always does when he’s unsure; he just goes for it, full speed.

He yanks his sweatpants and underwear down a little, freeing his half-hard cock, and imagines that the hand that touches him next isn’t his own, but Chuck’s. That Chuck is standing in front of him, braced against Mike’s chest with one hand while stroking him with the other, leaning forward to kiss him. And… it’s good, it’s really good, the little, contented sounds that he imagines Chuck making into his mouth, how Chuck’s hair would feel under his hands. It feels… comfortable. It feels right. He imagines that Chuck might be shy, might want to take it easy at first, so he slows his hand, throws his head back and makes a little noise to show the Chuck in his head that he likes it. Imaginary Chuck kisses his neck, gaining confidence, picking up the pace and gripping Mike’s dick harder, until it almost hurts. That’s the way Mike likes it; intense. He settles into the rhythm, rocking his hips forward. Letting his other hand trail down his chest, he imagines it’s Chuck’s hand, slowly moving down his stomach to cup his balls, then squeezing and pulling on them just a little…

Mike comes so hard he sees white lights behind his eyes. His knees buckle and he slides down the door until he’s sitting on the ground in a heap, sweatpants tangled around his thighs. There’s a long moment during which his mind is completely blank. When he comes back to himself, sitting on the floor in his room alone, he feels hazy and sort of… bereft. Disappointed. He leans his head back against the door, sucks in a few deep breaths, trying to collect himself. He wants… he wants Chuck to be here with him, making a dumb joke or smiling at him in that relaxed way he does when it’s just the two of them. The ache in his crotch has been taken care of, but its been replaced by a full-body, empty sort of ache that’s just a whole other problem. He decides he’ll deal with it later. He’s exhausted. He skims off his sweatpants, cleans himself up, and crawls into bed. It’s only after he’s wrapped himself in the sheets that he remembers; Chuck is probably right on the other side of the wall by now. A few feet away, curled in his own blankets, warm and sleep-tousled.

Mike doesn’t sleep very well that night.

***

After that, Mike stops counting, because Chuck wears his hair up in a ponytail all the time. It drives Mike crazy. It’s like a dam has burst; now that he’s started thinking about kissing Chuck, he can’t seem to stop. Every time Chuck does basically _anything_ —pumps his fist in triumph after winning at Extreme Wheels, shouts excitedly at Mike from the other room that he’s cracked a programming problem, laughs at one of Julie’s dry jokes—Mike has to fight back the urge to dig his fingers into Chuck’s hair, pull him down, and mash their mouths together. And he thinks about other stuff too, wants to see how Chuck would react if Mike nibbled his pale neck, what sorts of new noises he’d make if Mike kissed a line down his freckled stomach.

A few days go by and Mike doesn’t really know what to do. He finds himself spacing out in the middle of machining a part; taking extra long showers and imagining Chuck’s hands on him under the running water; goofing around more than usual just to see Chuck smile. He has to stop himself from being extra affectionate; he’s always been a handsy guy, but now he’s just _looking_ for excuses to let his arm rest over Chuck’s shoulders. And that doesn’t feel right, what with Chuck not knowing about the things Mike now imagines doing to him late at night. When the Burners all go out to Antonio’s one evening after a successful scavenging mission to the underdepths, Mike deliberately puts himself between Dutch and Julie instead of sitting next to Chuck like he usually does. He knows he’s acting weird, but hopefully no one will notice.

Texas comes back to the table with the pizzas, puts them down, and bats at Chuck’s ponytail before sliding into the booth next to him.

“Skinny needs a haircut,” Texas says. “You’re lookin’ kinda girly. Girlier than usual, anyway.”

“Shut up, Texas,” Mike says, way more snappishly than he intended, then almost slaps a hand over his own mouth. Texas looks affronted.

“Yeah, shut up, Texas,” says Julie smoothly. “I, an actual girl, think it looks very nice.”

“I’m gonna third that ‘Shut up,’” Chuck says, unconcerned. “You don’t have a leg to stand on in terms of style, you jumpsuited peanut.” Julie snorts. Mike glances at Chuck, startled. When did Chuck get so _indifferent?_ Texas used to really get to him sometimes. Maybe he’s finally taken a cue from the rest of the Burners and stopped caring about the random junk that comes out of Texas’ mouth. Mike loves Texas, but he knows you can’t take the guy too seriously.

“Can I tell Texas to shut up, too?” says Dutch, looking around with a wry smile. “Since everyone else is doing it.”

Texas crosses his arms. “This is illegal,” he says. “Four against one. Uncool, guys.”

“You started it,” Chuck says to Texas, smirking. Texas winks at Chuck from under his hat. “Tch, you got me,” he says. “I guess you’re keepin’ the ponytail, Skinny. Majority rules or whatever. Imma still rag you about it though.”

Okay, something happened there when Mike wasn’t looking.

“Whatever,” Chuck says, rolling his eyes. “But,” he adds, a warning tone creeping into his voice, “you remember what I said about calling me ‘girly’ like it’s an insult, right?”

Texas glances guiltily at Julie, who in turn is looking at Chuck, startled.

“Dude!” Texas says. “I forgot. You guys know I don’t mean it like _that._ OBVIOUSLY girls are awesome and cool, right, Cheryl?” He holds a hand up to Julie for a high five. She squints at him.

“Don’t leave me hangin,’ Alliso… Julie,” Texas says, brow furrowed. “You know I don’t mean it like that, right?” Julie weighs this for a moment, arms crossed.

“I _guess,”_ she says finally. “But why don’t you retire that one, big guy? If you’re trash-talking people, don’t drag innocent bystanders into it.”

“Yeah!” Texas says enthusiastically, seeming to forget about the high five. “I can come up with way better burns! Like…” He points finger guns at Chuck. “You look like your head got crossed with a horse butt! You got horse butt head.” Chuck snorts.

“You’ve got _regular_ butt head,” he retorts. “Your _face_ looks like a butt.”

“Well, your butt looks like a face! An UGLY face.” Julie and Dutch spectate, amused, as Chuck and Texas insult each other in increasingly ridiculous ways. Mike sits back, though, tuning them all out for a second.

Huh. He feels a little stupid. He should have noticed that that bothered Julie. She’s a girl, after all, probably not great to hear it used as a put-down. It’s… really cool and smart of Chuck to have figured that out. Chuck thinks about things in ways that would never even occur to Mike. Mike knows he can just… _make_ himself be okay with stuff, if he tries hard enough. Not everyone can do that, not even Julie. Chuck would understand. Chuck is hardly ever okay with _anything,_ and has no problem letting people know about it. That’s brave, in a whole different way than Mike is brave. He feels a rush of affection.

Julie nudges him. “Where’d you go, cowboy?” she says softly, smiling at him. Chuck and Texas’ diss-a-thon has somehow morphed into loud argument between Chuck, Texas, and Dutch over which super power would be the coolest.

He smiles back. “Just thinking,” he says.

“Hmm.” Julie sips her juice. “Chuck looks good with a ponytail, doesn’t he,” she says casually.

“Oh, totally,” Mike agrees.

Then his brain catches up to his mouth. He freezes, heart pounding. He just straight up _admitted_ it! And Julie _also_ thinks Chuck is cute? Crap! Mike feels a rush of confused emotions. Julie looks unfazed.

“Your opinion means a lot to him, you know,” she says.

Wait. What does _that_ mean?

Dutch leans over from Mike’s other side and says, “Man, tell these goobers that invisibility would literally be the WORST super power,” and Mike takes the out, throwing himself into the conversation. Julie jumps in too and they end up deciding that flying would be cool, invisibility would be dumb, and invulnerability would be the most useful in their current situation. The other topic seems forgotten for the moment. Laser dodged.

It’s not until later that night, alone in his room and restless, that he thinks; was Julie hinting that he should _tell_ Chuck he likes the ponytail? Or was she hinting that _she_ likes Chuck? She _did_ say he looked good… Mike rolls over in bed, frustrated. Why does she have to be so _enigmatic_ all the time?

Well, duh, she’s a double agent. Mike sighs and decides: it’s time to do something about this. It’s getting ridiculous.

So. First, assess the situation.

Chuck pretty clearly likes girls, Mike knows that. He had that thing for Claire (Mike almost immediately regretted trying to help with that; Claire doesn’t _get_ Chuck. Mike just thought that’s what friends were supposed to do. But Chuck seems to have given up on her since the time they got stuck up in Deluxe and Mike crashed her pod, and whenever she comes down here she hangs out at the Amazons’ anyway, they hardly ever see her). That doesn’t _necessarily_ rule out the possibility that he’d kiss Mike, but it makes it seem less likely. But if, in her circumspect way, Julie _was_ hinting he should bring it up, then… he should chance it. Even if Chuck doesn’t reciprocate, he’s not going to _hate_ Mike or anything, they’ll just go back to being friends and Mike will… well, he’ll deal with it!

Tomorrow, Mike decides. He’ll say something tomorrow.

He rolls back over and almost immediately falls into the best sleep he’s had in days.

***

Mike doesn’t see his chance until late the next night. They get a big order for parts and he and Texas are in the machine shop all day, then Chuck goes out to the Cablers with Dutch to do some debugging and doesn’t get back until after dinner. But after everyone else has headed out or gone to bed for the night, Chuck is still in the living room, ensconced in the armchair as usual. Mike figures this is ideal. He grabs two bags of pretzels from the kitchen and goes in.

“Hey,” he says, “snack?” and throws a bag of pretzels at Chuck’s head. Chuck catches it. “When have I ever said no to _that,_ dude?” he says, smiling. “Thanks.”

“Sure. Mind if I join you?”

“I’m being kind of boring,” Chuck says quizzically. “I downloaded a bunch of the Cablers’ code. With the right hardware I think we might be able to adapt it to make a defense grid around the garage. I just have to figure out how to keep it from draining the main power supply, I’m working on that.”

“Cool,” Mike says, “I’m gonna chill in here for a bit.”

Chuck looks skeptical, but replies, “Whatever you say, dude,” and goes back to coding.

Mike settles in on the couch, opens up his own bag of pretzels, and thinks about his next move. He suddenly feels uncertain. What’s the protocol here? He can’t just _say it._ He wants to get a better sense of the lay of the land first, see what his chances are like. Might as well put some cadet tactics into practice. Time to use his recon training to subtly gather information from the target.

“Chuck, would you ever kiss a guy?” he blurts out into the silent living room.

Crap! Abort mission! No, it’s too late. Chuck makes a wild key-smash, turning his screen into a cloud of static and error noises. “Shit!” he yells, then reflexively, “Sorry!” Then, scandalized, “Mike, _what?_ That’s not… Maybe I did! So what? Did Thurman… UGH! He’s got such a big mouth! Look, LARPing can get a little wild sometimes! It’s not a big deal!”

Mike feels his stomach drop.

“Wait, you and _Thurman_ are…” He makes a vague gesture.

“NO, dude!” Chuck looks wildly uncomfortable. “We’re not anything! He’s pretty straight. We just made out a couple times because, you know, LARPing!” Mike definitely does NOT know.

But… wait a minute. This is good!

“So… you _would_ kiss a guy?”

Chuck buries his face in his hands. “Oh my GOD, Mikey,” he says, muffled. “What… Why do you even… You know what, screw it. Yeah! Yeah, I would.” He looks at Mike through his fingers. “Pretty much anybody who wants to kiss ME, I’m all for that,” he says, a little rueful. “It’s not like people are lining up!”

“Well, you already kissed Thurman _and_ Claire, that’s more than me!” Mike tries to fight down a pang of jealousy, fails, and has to ask, “Have you kissed anybody _else?”_

Chuck looks both distressed and confused. “Why do you want to know all of a sudden?”

Mike bounces in his seat a little. “You’re my best bro, can’t I be curious? I wanna know what’s going on with you!”

“I don’t know if you really do, dude.”

“Well, now I’m _super_ curious!” Mike feels like they’re right on the edge of something here, and he points himself toward that edge and floors it. “Tell me everything!”

“Uh, WOW. I am definitely NOT going to do that.”

“Come ooooooooon,” Mike groans theatrically. “I’m dying of suspense over here! I’m gonna be annoying until you tell me.” He stretches his leg out and pokes Chuck repeatedly in the shin with his toe, chanting, “Chuck. Tell me. Chuck. Tell me. Chuck.”

“Okay, okay, geez! It’s not that interesting!” Chuck swats his foot away, settles back into the armchair. “Yeah, okay, I’ve kissed some people. Ruby and I had a thing when we first met. And there’s Thurman, but that doesn’t really count. Neither does Claire, because she was on drugs and _really_ doesn’t like me. And, uh.” There’s a long pause.

“Dude, what.”

“Well. Julie and I kissed once.”

Mike starts. He’d half suspected, but hearing it knocks the wind out of him.

“It’s cool though, it didn’t get awkward,” Chuck continues hastily. “Julie and I talk about this stuff pretty often, she’s helped me a lot. We were up late one night and decided to try it. It didn’t really work.” Chuck shakes his head. “I love Julie, don’t get me wrong, but not in a _girlfriend_ way, you know? Which is lucky, because she was figuring some things out too, that was right before she hooked up with Claire.” Chuck smiles ruefully at the ground. “I guess I’m so great at kissing I turned them both gay.”

Whoa, hold on a second. Julie and _Claire?_ Mike has some serious catching up to do.

“Huh. Wow,” he says, taking a moment to integrate this new information. He gets a brief flash of Julie’s pale hand against Claire’s bare stomach. That’s… hot, but sort of uncomfortable and probably rude to think about. He quickly scrubs the image from his mind and pictures Julie and Chuck instead, up late, talking about _romance,_ of all things. It’s adorable. And… not only does Julie _not_ have dibs on Chuck, she also had _intel._ She really _was_ giving him a hint. He feels a surge of nervous excitement.

“Okay, so that’s four people.” Mike’s a little impressed despite himself. “Dang, dude, that’s pretty good. Anyone else I should know about?”

Chuck shrugs his shoulders up to his ears, looking mortified. “Enough about _me,”_ he says hurriedly. “What about _you?_ What brought this on? You, like, never talk about this stuff. I thought it wasn’t… something you were interested in.”

“Uh. What do you mean?”

Chuck frowns, brow furrowing. “Well, just, a guy like you should be, you know, dating _other_ hot people, but never _once_ have you shown any interest in anybody that I’ve noticed, and you never talk about having a crush, or… uh… being attracted to anyone. And the times I’ve brought it up before, you got uncomfortable and changed the subject? I thought you were probably ace!”

Responding to that takes Mike a second, first because he has to recover from the implication that Chuck thinks he’s hot, and second because he realizes he _has_ avoided the topic, at least with Chuck. He never really liked Chuck getting crushes on people. On _other_ people. Geez, how long has he been this obtuse?

“I’ve been kind of busy fighting Kane and stuff!” he finally manages. “And I’m probably _what_ now?”

“Ace. Asexual.” Mike squints at him questioningly. “You don’t feel attracted to people? Or wanna. You know.” Chuck waves a hand, reddening.

That’s a _thing?_ Huh. But… it’s not quite accurate. He thinks guiltily back over the last few days.

“I don’t think that’s right?” he says, frowning. “Can you be ace sometimes, but other times… not?” He flushes. He sounds like an idiot.

“Ah. So you’ve been… into people before?” Chuck seems kind of stunned.

“I… yeah?” There was Jenzen. Totally had some thoughts about that guy. Mike flinches a little from the memory. So stupid. He pulls himself back to the conversation. “Not very often, though. Is there a word for only being _sort of_ ace?”

Chuck frowns. “Look, you don’t have to put a label on yourself. And I know they do some weird conditioning in the cadets, that probably has something to do with it too. But maybe you’re demi? Demisexual,” he explains patiently to Mike’s confused look. “You don’t feel attracted to someone unless you really like them. You know them and trust them and stuff.”

“Well, sure,” Mike says. “That sounds right. Do other people wanna make out with people they don’t even _know?_ Is that normal?”

Chuck snorts. “Well, I know _I_ do.” Then he catches himself and his face reddens further. He quickly looks away, reaching for a pretzel and adding, “Normal’s whatever! There’s lots of different kinds of normal. There’s like, a spectrum. ”

“Okay, cool! Where do you think I am on the spectrum?” Mike likes giving Chuck problems to solve.

Chuck taps his lip like he does when he’s thinking, except with the pretzel. It’s cute. “Well, _I_ dunno, dude, it’s not necessarily fixed. It could just depend on the situation. Were you pretty close to the person you felt attracted to?” He pops the pretzel into his mouth. Mike stares for a second before he remembers to answer the question.

“Yeah, I’d say so,” Mike says wryly. Really, it’s now or never. “I’m pretty close to him right now.”

Chuck chokes on the pretzel and starts coughing. Mike has to jump up and pound him on the back a few times before he can breathe freely again. Hoooooo boy, Mike is getting the sense that he is really bad at this.

“Dude, are you okay?” he tries, letting his hand rest on Chuck’s back.

Chuck takes a wheezing breath, looks at him in consternation. “Okay, so… okay. That’s gotta mean… He? Is a friend of yours. S …someone I know?”

Mike rolls his eyes so hard he thinks he might have sprained something. He’s not the only one who’s bad at this, apparently.

“Yeah, you know him. Tall guy, blonde hair, good with computers, rides shotgun?”

Chuck swallows. He’s oddly still under Mike’s hand.

Mike takes his hand away and says, a little nervousness creeping in, “So, I wanted to know if you’d ever kiss a guy because… I wanted to see if I had a shot?”

Chuck makes another choking noise. Mike’s afraid he didn’t get the pretzel all the way clear, but then the noise explodes into strangled giggles.

“Ahahaha, _what?_ Do you have a _shot?”_ Now Chuck is looking at him like he’s crazy. “With ME? Are you SERIOUS right now?”

Mike’s cheeks flush hot with embarrassment. Wow, he must have been _really_ misreading things! “Look, if not, I get it, that’s totally fine…”

“No, you complete dope, OF COURSE you have a shot!” Chuck interrupts, incredulous.

Mike barely has time to register a flood of mixed relief and glee before Chuck continues, tripping over his words.

“You… with ME? I didn’t think… I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, so I never said… And you think I WOULDN’T? Are you NUTS?”

“Hey! I didn’t know!” Mike sputters. “I didn’t think about you that way until recently, I didn’t know if you’d… I didn’t _know!”  
_

Chuck looks like he’s about to have a heart attack. He throws his hands in the air. “Mikey! You’re my ride-or-die bro! You’re hot as hell, you laugh at my dumb jokes, you let me eat your fries! You put up with my screaming, you treat me like part of the team even though some days I’m a useless nervous wreck! You’re my best friend, I’ve had a crush on you since I was like TEN! And now you’re asking me if you have a SHOT? You have ALL the shots! AAAAUGH!”

Chuck grabs a pillow from the armchair and throws it at Mike’s head. Mike ducks. “YEARS, Mike Chilton, YEARS I’ve been thinking you’d never like _anyone,_ much less _me,_ and now all of a sudden you’re asking me if you have a SHOT? I’m gonna KILL you, you oblivious banana!”

He launches himself at Mike, catching him flat-footed, and they topple backwards onto the couch, Chuck landing hard on Mike’s thighs and grabbing his forearms. “I’m gonna END you!” Chuck yelps, and it’s not very romantic, but it’s pretty funny. Mike wrestles him, laughing happily, and lets Chuck pin his arms by the sides of his head. Then Chuck says, “I’m gonna be real with you right now, bro,” suddenly serious, and Mike tries to focus because Chuck _holding him down_ is really distracting, wow. “If we do this, you are never, ever getting rid of me, you know that, right? Like, it should be pretty obvious that I… love you and stuff?” He says it fast and kind of squeaky. Mike feels a rush of tenderness even as he snorts with laughter.

“Yeah, I know! I love you too, dude, a lot. Like really a lot. I figured you already knew _that.”_

“I thought it was only in a platonic way,” Chuck says, eyes searching Mike’s face.

Mike shifts restlessly, testing Chuck’s grip. “Not… not lately, buddy,” he says, a little breathless. “And definitely not right now.”

Chuck flushes again. Mike watches, fascinated, as the blush slowly suffuses his whole face. “If you’re gonna change your mind, you better do it quick,” Chuck says urgently. “Cuz I’m about to kiss you.”

Mike pushes forward into Chuck’s hands. “Bring it,” he says. And Chuck leans in and (finally!) kisses him.

It’s the opposite of what Mike imagined. Chuck’s not hesitant at _all._ He goes after the kiss hungrily, licking at Mike’s lips and then slipping his tongue into Mike’s mouth when Mike opens it. It’s _awesome._ Mike makes a growling noise deep in his throat and Chuck makes a little sound back, a sound that goes right to Mike’s dick. Mike gives in to the urge he’s had ever since that first night with the hair clip, pulls his hands out of Chuck’s grasp, and buries them in Chuck’s hair. A little later when Chuck pulls away, Mike’s panting, and Chuck is disheveled, face red and hair mussed, half out of the ponytail. Mike catches his breath.

“Hah, _wow,”_ he says, delighted. “Why didn’t I think of this before?”

Chuck raises his eyebrows. “I am seriously going to kill you,” he says, exasperated, and kisses Mike again.

When Chuck lets him come up for air, Mike has to take a second to regroup before he can speak. “I’m getting mixed messages here, my dude,” he says hoarsely. “Are you gonna kill me, or…” He waggles his eyebrows.

“I can think of a lot of other things I’d rather do to you,” Chuck says, leaning in to nuzzle at Mike’s jawline right below his ear. Oh, _wow._ That’s… wow. He hadn’t expected Chuck to be so _forward_. It’s doing things to his nether regions.

“Oh yeah? Like what?” He means for it to be challenging, but it comes out kind of breathless. Chuck sits back, bony butt poking Mike’s thighs.

“Hmmmmm.” Chuck makes a big show of thinking about it, stroking his chin. “What do I want to do with a ridiculously hot guy who for some reason is letting me sit on him? What could I _possibly_ want to do?” 

That’s the third time Chuck’s called him hot in the last ten minutes. It makes Mike feel giddy. He swats at Chuck, laughing. Chuck laughs too, grabbing his hands again, pinning them to his chest.

“Basically whatever you want, dude!” Chuck says cheerfully. “I mean, I don’t want to go too fast or anything, but…” he shrugs. Once again: wow.

“I’m okay with going fast,” Mike says eagerly.

“I’m aware.” Chuck rolls his eyes. “But we’re not in Mutt.” He suddenly looks concerned. “You can bail out any time, you know that, right?”

Mike nods. “I don’t want to bail,” he says with certainty.

Chuck nods, with a slightly crooked, wondering grin. “Cool,” he says. Then he just starts listing things off like it’s no big deal.

“So here’s some ideas, let me know if one of these sounds good. We could keep it pretty chill if you want, just make out and do a bunch of kissing, that would be awesome. Or handjobs are a good option, low pressure. I’d be totally down to blow you, actually I wanna get my mouth all over you, so that’s on the table. We could sixty-nine, but that might be too complicated, I dunno. There’s also some more, uh, _advanced_ stuff, but…”

Mike reaches out and puts his hand over Chuck’s mouth. Chuck stops talking.

“Dude,” Mike says after a second, “you’re a nerd.” Chuck laughs into his hand.

“Mmust brunstumming!” he says, muffled. Mike takes his hand away. “I’m just brainstorming,” Chuck repeats softly, looking shy. “I just wanna know what you’re into, so I can do this right.”

“Bro, _I_ don’t even know what I’m into. We can just… see what happens?”

Chuck gets a wrinkle between his eyebrows. “I don’t want to do anything you don’t like, though. I don’t want to screw this up? I mean, I can’t believe you actually want to do this, I gotta make it good for you, I gotta…”

“Dude,” Mike interrupts, “relax. You don’t _gotta_ do anything. I’m gonna like pretty much anything you do, I can tell you already. Let’s just try stuff!”

“You’re so… uuuuugh.” Chuck runs a hand across his face. “I don’t really know what I’m doing! How can you just… _trust_ me like that?”

Now it’s Mike’s turn to look at Chuck like he’s crazy.

“Chuck, you save my life all the time. Of course I trust you.” 

“Oh. But… _this…_ I just…” Chuck seems flustered.

“How about we start here?” Mike says, and pulls his shirt off over his head, flings it onto the floor.

“Oh!” Chuck says, high-pitched. “Uh! Okay!” Mike laughs, bites it off abruptly when Chuck leans forward and kisses his neck. Mike hadn’t been aware his neck was an erogenous zone, but okay, _yeah._ Chuck puts a hand on Mike’s stomach, runs it up to his chest. Mike makes a small, approving noise and Chuck trails his hand across Mike’s chest, rubs his thumb over Mike’s nipple, and Mike lets out an incoherent sound, startled by the shock it sends straight to his groin. Chuck hums, mouth still pressed against Mike’s neck, and does it again. Mike shudders. Chuck explores his chest and stomach with gentle hands, alternating between kissing his lips and his neck, until Mike’s head is spinning with it.

“You like me touching you… like this,” Chuck says hesitantly into Mike’s ear after a while.

“Mmmm,” is all Mike can manage in response.

“What if I touch you… here?” Chuck says, trailing his hand down Mike’s stomach.

“Mmmm!” Mike tries to articulate his enthusiasm for this development. He arches up into Chuck’s hand. But Chuck hesitates at the waistline of his jeans. He seems uncertain about making the leap. Mike feels like he’s going to explode.

“Chuck,” he gasps, “Chuck, please, _please.”_

 _“God,”_ Chuck says fervently, and shoves his hand down Mike’s pants.

Mike lets out an undignified yelp. It’s a little uncomfortable, Chuck’s hand squeezing him through his underwear and pressed too tight by his jeans, but at the same time it’s so good, shockingly good to have a hand on him that’s not his own. Chuck squeezes again, and Mike’s hips jerk forward involuntarily. Chuck pulls his hand out and Mike moans in protest, but Chuck is frantically pawing at his fly, popping the button and pulling the zipper down. Mike breathes a sigh of relief as some of the pressure lets up.

“I’m gonna…” Chuck tugs at Mike’s underwear. Mike is one hundred percent here for that. “Please!” he barks. He realizes too late that it sounded less like an entreaty and more like a command, but Chuck is already pulling at his pants and underwear, tugging them down to mid-thigh, exposing Mike’s hard-on to the air.

There’s a pause. Chuck takes a deep breath. Mike suddenly realizes he’s mostly naked in the living room. He clutches at the cushions. They’re defiling the couch! But it only takes a second for him to decide he doesn’t care when Chuck wraps one rough-knuckled hand around his dick, straddling his legs and leaning forward to kiss him, stroking him hard at the same time. Mike moans into Chuck’s mouth, pushes his hands under the hem of Chuck’s shirt. He can feel Chuck’s ribs, it makes a wave of protectiveness wash over him.

Chuck stops kissing him, pulls back a little. Mike pauses. Maybe he’s going too fast? That seems weird, considering what Chuck is doing to _him,_ but he can take a cue. He pulls his hands out from under the shirt, runs them up Chuck’s back instead, and that seems to go over better. Chuck leans back into his hands, and Mike digs his thumbs in a little, massaging the slim lines of Chuck’s back. Chuck closes his eyes, lets out a soft, warbling sigh that Mike’s never heard before. Mike’s dick twitches in Chuck’s hand. Chuck is still stroking him, a little more gently now and with a steady rhythm, and as Mike shivers, Chuck opens his eyes again, looking at Mike fiercely in a way Mike’s only ever seen when Chuck was using that stupid booster. Mike likes it much better when _he’s_ the one responsible. He can’t help shifting restlessly, pushing himself into Chuck’s hand.

“Mikey, how are you so _hot?”_ Chuck says, sounding vaguely injured. “It’s really unfair. Like, _really_ unfair, god.” And Chuck is leaning forward again, pushing Mike down into the couch a bit, and it’s just like a lot of Mike’s recent fantasies, except _way_ better because this time the couch is rough against his back and there’s a pretzel bag crinkling under his left buttcheek and Chuck has started _doing things_ experimentally with his hand that make Mike’s eyes roll back in his head and his eyelids flutter closed.

“Chuck,” Mike moans, “feels good.” He’s started making little gasping sounds that he can’t seem to stop.

“Yeah. Mike. God.” Chuck sounds almost pained. Mike forces his eyes open to check in, and Chuck is _concentrating,_ with that little line he gets between his eyebrows, and he seems to be trying to solve Mike like an equation, moving his hand in different ways and cataloging every embarrassing noise Mike makes. It’s… intense. Mike’s been the target of Chuck’s laser-like focus before, but this is entirely next-level. Mike feels like he should be doing something but he’s sort of lost track. He grips the cushions, trying to follow the thought. This is great, this is so great, but… “Chuck, stop,” he says breathlessly.

Chuck freezes. Mike realizes his delivery may have left something to be desired.

“Dude, it’s okay, I just…”

“Did I do something wrong?” Chuck gasps. “Oh god, I didn’t hurt you, did I? I’m messing this up, I…”

“Chuck, just hold on a second!” Chuck stops talking, looking extremely anxious. “You’re great, this is great.” The anxious look eases a bit, but remains. Mike takes a breath.

“It’s just that you still have all your clothes on. That is totally unfair.”

Chuck frowns.

“I… what.”

“You still have all your clothes on.” Mike repeats. “I’m not really pulling my weight right now, am I?”

“Oh my god, I thought something was WRONG.” Chuck scowls at him.

“Something _is_ wrong, you still have your shirt…” and Mike reaches for the hem of Chuck’s shirt and Chuck _yelps,_ knocking his hands away.

Mike freezes, confused. “Chuck, I’m sorry, I…”

Chuck grabs Mike’s hands again, clutching at them. “No, _I’m_ sorry,” he wails, distressed. “I’m being weird, I know, I just, I’m trying to think of a way to do this where I leave my shirt ON, but that’s weird, that’s totally weird, I just… UGH. I have some gnarly scars, okay? From R & D stuff. I don’t want you to be grossed out.” Chuck hunches his shoulders miserably. “Don’t… don’t want you to change your mind.”

Mike suddenly realizes he hasn’t seen Chuck without a shirt since they were kids; he even wears that stupid onesie bathing suit when they go swimming. He knows one of Chuck’s arms is bioware; before the long stretch of time when Mike was in the cadets and Chuck was… gone ( _defected_ , Mike found out about it from a “Wanted” poster), Chuck had only had one whole arm; the left one ended just above the elbow. He’d told Mike it was congenital; a big part of the reason he wanted to join R & D at all was to get a bioware implant. Deluxe was hard on people who were different. Mike realizes he’s never asked what else they did to Chuck in the program; Mike himself is full of implants and doesn’t have any scars that are more than fine lines, but Chuck went in a couple years before him, things might have been different then. Mike’s reluctant to talk or think about his own enhancements—the long stretches of enforced immobility, the rehab, getting used to a body that seemed alien—so he just… never brought it up, aside from complimenting Chuck on the new arm when they reunited down here. A rush of guilt twists his stomach. They did something horrible to his best friend, and he never even _asked._

“Chuck,” he says, “don’t be dumb. You think some _scars_ are gonna make me change my mind? I bet they’re awesome. You and me, we’ve got all kinds of scars from Kane. I don’t care about that.”

Chuck is still holding on to Mike’s hands, and he grips them a little harder. “Listen, these are really bad, though,” he says. “My original arm was a total loss, they had to replace the whole thing at the shoulder, and they did a lot of stuff in my chest to integrate the muscles and the bioware so it would grow along with me. They hadn’t done an arm replacement with a full interactive screen interface and weapons system before. Hah, my first arm got messed up and started growing too fast, I had a huge arm for a week until they replaced it with a new model.” Chuck laughs a little. Mike doesn’t think that’s remotely funny. “So, there was some damage, and I wasn’t really the greatest prototype so they didn’t spend a lot of time on cosmetics.” He wrinkles his nose, says resignedly, “You’re gonna be grossed out.”

That’s ridiculous. “There’s no way anything about you will gross me out,” Mike says with certainty.

Chuck snorts. “Don’t say that until you’ve seen ‘em.”

Mike scowls. “C’mon, man. You’ve known me since forever. Do I really seem like the kind of guy who wouldn’t think scars are _super cool?”_

Chuck lets out a startled giggle. “God, you are so _weird,”_ he says, a smile flickering across his face. He still looks nervous, but he takes a breath, says, “Okay,” and moves to pull his shirt over his head. Mike helps, grabbing the hem and lifting it over Chuck’s arms.

The scars _are_ pretty gnarly. They radiate in ropy, corrugated striations from Chuck’s shoulder joint to the middle of his chest, covering his left pectoral. The seam between his bioware arm and his human shoulder is white and puckered. Mike doesn’t like seeing the evidence of his friend’s pain. But then he gets distracted, because the rest of the view is extremely appealing. Chuck is slim and wiry, all sinew and fast-twitch muscle, and his skin is milky and freckled. The freckles are _all over._

“Wow,” he says. Chuck flinches, and Mike realizes that could be interpreted a distressing number of ways. “You’re hot,” he blurts out ungracefully, to clarify.

“Shut up,” Chuck says, crossing his arms over his chest.

“No, you totally are,” Mike says, an edge of desperation creeping into his voice. He has to say the right thing _right now._ “You look like a… a b… like a _badass.”_ He winces when the word leaves his mouth. Cadet conditioning. But again… up yours, Kane.

Chuck’s eyes widen. “You… you just _swore.”_

“Yeah!” Mike says defiantly. “And I’ll do it again, too! You look like a fu… a fu… a _fucking_ b-b-badass! You look f-f-f-fucking _awesome!”_ He’s clenching his fists. “You’re f-f-fucking amazing and he can’t keep me from saying it! F-f-f-FUCK!”

“Okay, okay, stop, don’t hurt yourself!” Chuck says hurriedly. Mike takes a deep breath. Chuck reaches out and cups Mike’s face, a shock of tenderness, his crooked smile back in full force. “You really think they look… badass?” he asks shyly. Mike nods. Something in Chuck relaxes, his shoulders loosen. He shakes his head. “You’re crazy, you know that, right?” he says fondly. “You’re an absolute lunatic.” Mike grins.

“It’s part of my charm,” he says.

Chuck pulls Mike in and kisses him.

It doesn’t take long for the kiss to get heated, or for Mike to grab Chuck’s hair again and tangle his fingers in it. The ponytail is completely gone now, the hairband lost to some corner of the couch. Mike is still mostly naked and Chuck is sitting on him in a _very_ distracting way, and Mike runs his hands over Chuck’s back, hungry for the touch of bare skin. When he wraps his hands around Chuck’s waist he can feel how whipcord thin he is. It does things to Mike’s heart. Chuck barely has any body fat to cover his abs, and Mike can feel his muscles moving under his hands, feel the slight tremble in his slender body.

“Can I…” Chuck starts.

“Yeah!” Mike interrupts. “Yeah, you can.”

“You don’t even know what I wanna do,” Chuck says wryly, raising an eyebrow.

“Don’t care,” Mike pants. “Want you to. Want _you.”_ Chuck closes his eyes for a second, takes a deep breath. “God, Mikey,” he says hoarsely, and starts unfastening his jeans.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Mike says, reaching out to tug at the waist of Chuck’s pants. Chuck doesn’t even bother taking them off, just frees his hard-on and pushes Mike back so he can straddle him again, then pulls Mike’s hips towards him. Mike sees where this is going and scoots forward eagerly. Their dicks bump against each other. They both gasp and Chuck jumps a little like he’s startled. The zipper of Chuck’s fly is rough against one of Mike’s hipbones, but Mike doesn’t care. He relaxes into the feel of Chuck against him. He wants more. As if reading his mind, Chuck grinds his hips a few times. It feels amazing, but it’s not enough, and Mike makes a soft keen of frustration until Chuck reaches between them and grabs both their dicks in one hand, squeezing them together. Chuck’s is leaking, he’s slick with it, and Mike gasps as they slide together into Chuck’s palm.

“Is that okay?” Chuck says, voice rough.

 _“Definitely,”_ Mike growls, grabbing Chuck’s hips and pulling him forward. Chuck bites his lip, starts thrusting against him, holding their dicks together with one hand, the other clamped in a death grip on Mike’s shoulder. Chuck leans forward, resting some of his weight on Mike, and bites his neck. Mike’s toes curl. He throws his head back, resting it on the back of the couch. Chuck attacks his neck, kissing and biting and sucking, and Mike is sure he’s going to be covered in hickeys and he _really_ doesn’t care.

After a minute, Chuck seems to lose some of his focus and pulls away from Mike’s neck, concentrating on sliding their dicks together, and Mike can’t say he has any objections. Chuck starts panting next to his ear, making the most incredible noises; little gasps and moans and inhalations. Each one sends a throb to Mike’s groin. He feels a building electric thrill, the sensation making his hands clench harder on Chuck’s hips. Chuck tightens his grip in response.

“Yeah, Mike, please, I want you to come,” Chuck says right in his ear, and almost without warning Mike _does_ come, crying out. Everything goes white and brilliant, and Mike wraps his arms around Chuck’s narrow back and just holds on, clutching Chuck’s shoulders, convulsing as he spills over Chuck’s hand.

“FUCK,” Chuck says with feeling, also right in Mike’s ear, and then he’s shaking too, unleashing an absolutely filthy, _loud_ moan. Mike feels a hot wetness splatter his stomach. Chuck shudders for a long moment, then collapses onto Mike’s chest, breathing hard. Mike’s last coherent thought is, _Awesome._ Everything is hazy and soft-edged for a while after that.

When Chuck pulls away some indeterminate time later, Mike grumbles and grabs at him, wanting the heavy warmth back, but Chuck says, “Let me get us cleaned up a little,” and, yeah, that’s probably a good idea. Mike lets himself be tended to, cleaned off with—hey, is that Mike’s t-shirt? Oh well, whatever. Chuck balls up the shirt, drapes himself on top of Mike. Mike makes a contented humming sound as he pushes back to look at Chuck’s disheveled face.

“Dang, dude. You’re really good at that,” Mike says. Chuck looks startled, then furiously pleased, going pink all the way to the tips of his ears.

“Nah, well, I just,” he says, waving a hand. “You know, I’m just, tsch.”

“A genius at all kinds of things?” Mike says, grinning, and Chuck reddens even more, looking happy and embarrassed. He hides his face in Mike’s chest, mumbling, “Whatever, dude, shut up,” and Mike laughs.

“Hey,” Mike says after a moment, “we better get out of here in case anyone else is up late.”

“Oh god,” Chuck says with a choked giggle. “Can you imagine? You know I’m never going to be able to even _look_ at this couch again, right?”

“Texas is going to put his butt on this couch,” Mike says seriously. “Right where we did it. _Jacob_ is going to put his butt on this couch.” Chuck covers his face with his hands, mortified, but still giggling.

 _“Gross,_ dude,” he says. “You’re right, we better get out of here. No one can _ever_ know.”

Mike feels his stomach curdle a little. Chuck must notice something in his face, because he quickly says, “About the couch, I mean. People can know about _us._ Hell, I wanna tell everybody in Motorcity. I’m gonna rent a billboard. I’m gonna write a newspaper article. ‘Local Nerd Gets Ridiculously Lucky.’” Mike shoves him and they almost fall onto the floor. Chuck kisses him again and reluctantly stands up, holding out a hand for Mike. Mike takes it, pulls himself up.

They gather themselves. Mike pulls his pants back on and gingerly picks up his wadded-up t-shirt while Chuck tugs his shirt over his head and adjusts his clothes, pulling himself together. His hair is still messed up, though, his lips red from kissing, his face flushed. It’s a good look on him. He’s the _best._

Mike stands there shirtless, suddenly shy. “Hey,” he says, “you wanna… come to my room? To spend the night?”

“Yes,” Chuck answers immediately. “If you want me to. Absolutely.”

“Awesome.” Mike imagines waking up next to a still-tousled Chuck, his hair falling into his eyes, and feels a little twinge of heat. This is going to be _great._

“We should knock that wall down,” Mike says. “Just make it one big room.”

Chuck looks at him with a mixture of shock and amusement. “Let’s take it one step at a time, dude,” he says. “You might want your space.”

"I _guess._ Just think about it." Mike grins at Chuck. Chuck grins back at him. Mike reaches out, tucks half of Chuck’s bangs behind his ear. “I like your hair this way,” Mike says.

“Is _that_ what started all this? Me growing my hair out?” Chuck says incredulously. “You could have picked something that didn’t take freakin’ forever.” Mike tucks the other half of Chuck’s bangs behind Chuck’s other ear.

“Shut up,” he says fondly. “I really couldn’t have. Come on, let’s go.” Mike holds out a hand. He feels the familiar thrill of something beginning; a new adventure. There’s no one he’d rather have by his side. Chuck takes his hand, and they set off, together.

**Author's Note:**

> Shout out to LaughingStones, BirchBow (chaoticTenebrism), and roachpatrol, whose influence you will detect here if you read a lot of Motorcity fanfiction. Also thanks to Ammoth for the encouragement.


End file.
